I flew to Rochester today. It was so easy. Flights usually mean skis, or bikes, or some other over-sized and over-priced object that I'm attempting to sneak into the cargo hold, and lots of stress, and connections, and carrying all competition clothing I might need on board, and being overly protective of my waxing iron and almost losing it because its a "power tool", and hassles over bringing waterbottles onto a plane.
But Christophe was coming home from Egypt this weekend, he and Michaela would be arriving Friday night on a bus, so I felt that I should try to make it home, too. I wasn't too psyched to drive to Rochester. Its twelve hours of driving, round trip, for a weekend trip.
I breezed through security with a backpack containing a book, a toothbrush, and my running shoes, and an hour later, I was in Rochester. So unencumbered by the usual piles of sports equipment, so free. Is this how normal people feel?
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